We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
If you are one of those folks who keep the house at 55 both summer and winter, you can ignore this post. Otherwise, you may be grateful for this reminder about the ideal serving temperatures for red wines - 55-62 degrees F.
That is cellaring temperature, not room temperature. In the summertime, you will enjoy your reds much more if they are chilled a bit, rather than drinking them at 85 degrees. Yuk.
The Chateau Margaux year is invisible to me but you can buy a 1971 for $190.00 a bottle. Not cheap, but not stupid either for a 40 year old wine. Why pretentious? Can't the man have a hobby? Me, I think the French over-priced for quality and swear by Chile, Argentina, Spain, Australia and the USA. And....? My taste, my choice, his taste, his choice.
My hobby, motorcycles, is hugely more expensive than a few bottles of frog plonk. Man, frog plonk, surely the Barrister can do better.
In the last years of his life, my father, a naturally abstemious man, took to having a few sips of port daily. His neighbour, a retired judge, and wife, sometimes joined him. The wife quite often. No evil, my dad was old as the hills and wheelchair bound. Just drinkie-poos and chit chat.
When I got wind of it I started being their pusher man with the best ports I could buy.
Their rules: Ruby at room (65 degrees here in Western Canada), Tawny at cellar, White over ice. Simple, innit?
Older people seem to handle being gently snockered much better.
The afternoons when I sat there nursing one with them are some of my best and favorite memories of the old boy.
Sorry, off to snivel and see if I've any port at all left.
Well, a thousand pardons then. I had had a few glasses of a nice Tempranillo and I'm of German heritage, complete with a big blocky Saxon head and a Teutonic (lack of) sense of humour. So I didn't see the joke.